Let's have a conversation, then
by SerceZGazety
Summary: It's almost dark and Red Mist wants revenge. Somewhat slashy.


Uh. Okay. This is my first English fanfiction EVER and I'm pretty sure it's full of mistakes. I'm afraid I've used the wrong tenses and - dear gods! - Polish punctuation. Sorry. But I'm open to criticism.

Even though I prefer the comicbook, this is movieverse reality. Once again: sorry.

**Warning**: lots of the f-word.

* * *

'Kick Assss! We meet ath lasst!'

Dave turned around and saw a familiar figure. It was swaying slightly, as the pale teen was trying to walk nonchalantly towards his nemesis.

'Um. Hello, Chris' he greeted him, surprised. He had no idea, what else could he say. 'I mean: Red Mist'.

'Thass Motherfucker to ya!'

Dave just couldn't help it. It was the only normal reaction to such a statement. He laughed.

Young D'Amico looked hurt. But, most of all, he looked ramped. He wasn't wearing his superhero outfit but still managed to look bizarre. Messy hair and two different shoes didn't help.

'Yer done?' he asked angrily after a while. But Dave wasn't. He had trouble with catching his breath. He really tried to stop laughing, but he found this whole situation was too abstract.

'Shit! Are you fuckin' nuts?' he yelped suddenly and crouched in pain, as the shorter boy hit his stomach with all his strength.

'M perrfectly fine' D'Amico hissed. 'Or wait' he started to theatrically count on his fingers. The dramatic effect was somewhat spoiled by the obvious fact that his speech was slurred. 'Ya've humili-at-at-ated me, ya've killed mefather with a f-fuckin' bazooka, ya've destroyed everything he had worked fo', ya've broken my fucnkin' eight bones, left us with no money aaan ya screwed me. Sooo... lethsss thhink 'boutit. Am I f-fine?'

Dave stared at him wide-eyed. He knew it was serious even before the pale teen punched him in the nose.

'FUCK! 'M not, ya cocksucker! Murdererer! 'M noe fine! Ya lil' piece of shit!' he heard through veil of sudden pain.

The kicks did hurt. Even with this awesome Wolverine skeleton and bones made of steel, a kick in the balls can be painful. Dave felt tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

'Sweet Jesus, stop!' he screamed. And Motherfucker stopped – just for a moment, but it was enough to kick his knee and make him loose balance.

All these streetfights had some effects. Dave was quick and agile, even with nosebleed and whacked diaph. Dave was taller and stronger than his opponent. Furthermore, Dave was sober.

He quickly had the other boy pinned to the ground. Motherfucker struggled angrily, but he wasn't at his best – and even his best was never impressive. While Kick-Ass was working out, Red Mist just asked his father for a superhero outfit. But he didn't give up.

'Fuck ya' he spluttered, struggling. Dave was holding his wrists and kneeling over him, panting.

'S-shit. What's it all about?' the stronger boy managed to say.

'Ya piece of shhit, how daare you athk ssuch a quethtion?' Motherfucker screamed angrily and tried to kick fervently.

'Geez, I know it's about revenge and all that stuff. But why the fuck tonight?'

The defeated teen narrowed his eyes. He smelled of booze. The reason of his attack seemed pretty obvious.

'You don't look very well, ya know' said Dave, splattering blood with every word. 'How many have you had?'

'Dunno what you're tulkinbout'

'Rrright.'

What was he supposed to do now? Let him go? Chris would attack him the moment he'd turn his back to him. Knocking the smaller boy out was the only solution he could come up with. But he couldn't bring himself to hit that sad excuse for a villain.

The boy lying on the ground looked bad. Okay, he was dead drunk, but that was just a part of it. He had dark shadows under the eyes and his previously chubby cheeks were now sunken. He wasn't plump anymore and his fingenails were almost nonexistent.

Dave couldn't help but feel sorry. Hitting him? No, that wouldn't be right. It would be something like kicking a half-drown puppy, even though any already dead and half- rotten puppy would have more charm than this spoiled asshole. But it was all about being the honorable good one and stuff like that.

He shifted awkwardly. Let's have a conversation, then.

'What was that thing about screwing _you_?'

'None o' ye' business' Chris snapped.

'Gee. As I recall, you know, I was the one who got screwed So what the _fuck_?'

'Toldya'

'Hey, look. You've just jumped me in a dark alley. And I've won. I can break your neck, you know.'

The other teen clenched his teeth in determination.

'Bring it on' he managed to say without slurring.

'Aw man, that was cheesy.'

Chris didn't really seem to care about his own cheesiness. He started to struggle once again and ended up trying to just turn his head, so that Dave couldn't see his expression.

'Calm down or I'll call Hit Girl' the taller boy ordered angrily. And D'Amico complied. Some things are too scary to ignore.

They fell silent. The villain wannabe shifted uneasily.

Now it was quite obvious that Chris D'Amico was blushing. It was perfectly normal, of course, with all that effort added to alcohol and anger.

He also avoided Dave's gaze.

'Jus' lemme go' he said quietly.

To be honest, that was an attractive concept. Mr Lizevski was probably slrady wondering where his son was. Way to the nearest grocery wasn't that long.

Letting him go was also the most moronic thing that could be done at that moment. But Dave was never the clever one.

'Okay, Chris. But no tricks'

'Thass Red Misst!' the other boy protested.

'I thought you called yourself Motherfucker'

Dave slowly stood up and started to back away, watching smaller boy carefully.

And suddenly he was pinned to the wall, with a switchblade on his neck. After all, maybe Red Mist wasn't as drunk as he acted.

'And wha' yer gonna do now, smartass?'

Shit.

'I could make yer life a fuckin' hell, yanno'

Dave knew. Life with a hole in his throat would be definitely unpleasant, even if quite short. He stopped himself from nodding.

'I could burn all yer Spiderman comicbooks. Or kidnap yer stooopid girlfriend'

'How the hell do you know 'bout Katie?'

'I jus' know.' Red Mist replied coolly. 'Kno' where she lives an' kno' where ya live. Fuck, I kno' what colour're socks in yer drawer and that ye read Sailor Moon when nobody's watchin'. Sso DON' MESS WITH ME!'

'Man, you're creepy. Are you stalkin' me or something?'

Chris' blush turned a deeper red.

'Fuck no.'

'No, really. What the hell?' Dave inquired.

The other boy frowned and tried to focus.

'Um. The point- the point IS- ' he hesitated. 'The point is it'sstime for my terrible revenge aan' stuff.'

'Oh, come on' Lizevski tried to sigh theatrically but failed miserably because of the razor on his throat. 'I'm not the one who's a fuckin' traitor, remember?'

'I'mnoe traitor!' Red Mist screamed histerically. 'I ha' no choice! I triedto save yer sorry ass an' what did it get meh?'

'Dude, what are you talkin' about?'

But Dave a;ready knew what he was talking about. He remembered the pale kid's expression when he was carried away and thrown into a van. He remembered the screams and few words he was able to distinguish at that time.

Shit.

'If it hassn been fo' me ya'd be dead befo' anyone even heard 'bout Big Daddy' said Chris, looking hurt.

'Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? ' Dave replied angrily. 'You brought me to the trap! Hell, you made ME bring YOU there!'

'You juss don' gedit'

'Then enlighten me!'

Red Mist seemed to have forgotten about the switchblade in his hand. That was goood. Let's not remind him. Let's make him feel as guilty as possible.

'You used me! You made me think you were my friend and then you betrayed me! Fuck, you had betrayed me even before we met!'

'It wassnt like that!' smaller boy sounded desperate. 'Dad promised me ya'll be okay. It wassabout Big Daddy, they were afte' him.'

'Bullshit! First thing you did was shoot an eleven-year old!'

'Cooome on, ya kno' whut she can do, rrright?'

'But you didn't know at the time! You wanted to kill a little, unarmed girl!'

Dave was really angry about that. Asshole just greeted a kid with a bullet. A fucking kid. And why the hell would Chris D'Amico want to save _him_? What was he lying for?

'I-I didn' wanto.'

'Right. They made you do this, eh? Your heart is pure and innocent and you did all of this for me.'

Watching Chris brighten up could really make you sorry. In that state he wasn't able to even notice sarcasm.

'I kne' ya'd unde'stand.' he smiled gratefully. 'An' I didin wan' any thanksgivin' from ya, ya kno'. But methinks 'hey! Wouldn' it be niiice if you didn' kill my dad and break my jaw?' Naive, wassn' I?'

The boy with a switchblade pressed to his throat didn't give a damn about the other's naivety. He just wanted to go home – preferably alive. But he had no weapon and no idea how to get rid of that cold pressure on his skin.

He could come up with only one thing and even the thought of it sounded ridiculous. It was disgusting and relied on the idea of sudden movement forward, what was perfectly moronic in a situation like that. He decided to think of something else.

Kick Ass had always had one problem. It wasn't about acting before thinking. It was about acting despite thinking.

So he kissed Red Mist half a second after he decided not to.

His opponent was supposed to freak out and perhaps loose a grip on the switchblade. To hesitate or step back.

He definitely wasn't supposed to return the kiss.

Oh shit. So that's what it was all about.

The shorter boy dropped the weapon to the ground and put his hands around the other's neck. Dave was so shocked at first that he forgot what was the purpose of his action. He was pretty certain he could feel tears running down Chris' face.

Oh fuck. Fuck. Why hadn't he noticed before? Holy shit.

Once again his brain decided to ignore itself.

He put his hands around shorter teen's waist. The heir of D'Amico empire broke the kiss for a moment to catch his breath and Dave quickly changed their position. Now he had Red Mist pinned to the wall and looking at him with pure devotion.

And then Kick Ass, the brave and honorable superhero knocked the boozed teen out with a plate taken from the nearest trashcan and ran away.

He hoped Red Mist - or Motherfucker, though the guy was himself too confused about his own cool nickname - was drunk enough not to remember, what had happened. In spite of all the reason, he hoped _he_ wouldn't remember.

It would be really awkward, if they did.


End file.
